XI. WHEN LOSING EVERYTHING MEANS NOTHING

  A gust of wind whipped Osric’s hair and robes as he stared off into the distance, the city of Aglaë lay in ruin and decay below him. From his vantage in the glass tower, he felt as if he could see all of Sorn and clear into Duvachellé. The north face of the tower was made of a wall of glass, the south and east being stone three quarters of the way up, and the western face being half glass and half masonry. The interior of Sorn was mostly wasteland, consisting of empty plains like the open sea, the tower standing as sentinel or beacon into that vast emptiness.

  Osric exhaled a cloud of vapor and leaned against the weathered railing of the tower's observation deck. While not a very impressive city to begin with, it looked like a husk of its former self as the denizens of Dusk. The balcony wrapped around the western wall of the tower, overlooking the leafless trees and browned grass of the palace gardens, the still ruined city still stained the horizon with the fetid smoke of its immolated citizens. The undead and demons of The Dusk realm had taken the city totally for themselves.

  He reached into his robes and retrieved his flute; he stared at the instrument melancholically for several moments before placing it to his lips. He blew a long, flat note, as if he wanted to play yet knew not what. As if by instinct, his fingers began to float across the keys, a jaunty tune emanated from his instrument. The wind began to coalesce before, him transforming into a thick fog. An image began to form within the fog, vague silhouettes and blurry figures that moved like phantoms.

  The form of his brother soon took shape, accompanied by his sister, her lance over her shoulders and a grin on her face. It was the day that Maleah had just graduated from a two-year officers training academy, successfully having moved up from basic infantry to cavalry. It was also the day he ascended to instructor of dark arts.

  The song took a lighter tone, though no less upbeat. The fog swirled as the image within it disappeared, the figures morphed along with it. Maleah sat in a bed of straw, blood covered her hands and dress, her hair tied up behind her. In front of her was a dark brown mare, its coat matted with sweat, as it nuzzled her newborn foal still slick with after birth. Séverin wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and motioned for Osric to bring in the trough.

  He abruptly changed the song with a dark and malicious shriek. The image distorted and faded to black mist. He stood staring into the distance; the winds picked up once again, and took with them the last remnants of the images. Morana appeared from tendrils of black smoke, bringing with her a fragrance of burnt incense. Osric leaned against the ornate stone railing, and ignored Morana as she caressed his shoulders.

  “You do realize that what you’ve done cannot be undone. Those memories are now lost to you forever.”

  “They can no longer haunt me as well. Names, faces, events; no more will they cloud my mind with doubt and regret.”

  She leaned in and nibbled on his ear; he pulled away and went back inside the tower. The empty and open spaces of the tower were cavernous and foreboding, minimally styled in an approximation of aesthetics from ages past. Osric hated it.

  Morana pouted and disappeared in a cloud of smoke to reappear by his side in the same manner. He looked to her and sneered in contempt; she merely folded her arms over her chest and mimicked his scowl.

  “Do you have an aversion to walking as well?” He barked as he picked through a fruit bowl on a low glass and steel table. “I know not what you assume our relationship is, but it is nothing like you imagine, I assure you.”

  “Do you have no heart anymore?” She entreated him with watery eyes. “Do you not see the signs of a woman’s affection?”

  Osric picked up an apple, and rubbed it on his robes. He turned his back to her eyes, though he knew it was a façade, the look had the power break any man. He was still uncertain about his conflicted emotions, but he was adamant that he would not fall under the woman’s spell.

  “You are dead and damned. Bride to a monstrosity, mentally unstable and either far too young or far too old for me. I asked for an instructor in forbidden arts, but instead I have been led along like a fool.”

  Morana’s entreating gaze vanished in an instant. “We should show the world that you are still a threat, instead you remain sheltered in this palace.”

  Osric looked up as the lift gates in the center of the room squealed open, and Alden stepped through. He still wore the odd uniform of a bygone era, something he called fatigues. On his hip was a nonfunctional weapon called a pistol, and in his ear was something called blue-tooth, a device that was neither blue nor a tooth used in facilitating communication between his men, much like a whisperweed plant. Morana turned away from him, leaving a flurry of snow in her wake as she crossed the room, supposedly to enjoy the view. Osric noticed this queer exchange however and was puzzled by it; unsure as to whether she was being sincere for once or not.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your lil’ lovers spat.” Alden tracked her movement across the room, and tried in vain to make eye contact.

  “We were having no such thing. As for your proposal, it is unnecessary. We can remain here until the secrets of Alfheim can be found. We will need all of our strength to breach that accursed forest.”

  “No Osric, I believe his words hold truth and logic. The nations of Runandia mustn’t gain respite or their inevitable counterattack could have dire consequences.” She continued to dodge Alden as she poured herself a glass of brandy.

  Alden placed a hand on her shoulder; she abruptly set down her tumbler and jerked away. He swore as he smacked the glass to the ground and aimed a finger at her as he struggled to find words to address her shiftiness. Osric briefly looked from Alden to the shattered glass, but was ultimately uninterested in pursuing the matter.

  “Then what do you suggest?” Osric took a seat and leaned back, his feet up on a low table.

  “The route to Alfheim lies through Marquez, as does another goal of ours.” Morana leaned against the windowsill, and gazed off into the distance.

  “About that, why do you need the king of Duvachellé?” Osric bit into his apple, not entirely interested in the topic at hand.

  “It was Duvachellé that thwarted me before; it was their king that rallied the nations of Runandia to march against me.”

  “So it is vengeance.” he took another large bite of his apple.

  “Nothing so simple, though that does play an important role. No, my real purpose is to prevent a repeat of the past. I shall not be doomed to the same failure, especially not by some inbred descendant. We need him alive to enter the royal tombs upon the Gojira mountain range. It is there that your route to Alfheim lies.”

  “Do as you will.” Osric waved them off as he tossed his half-eaten apple core. “My only concern is that damned forest.”

  Osric closed his eyes and began to doze. Morana frowned and stormed towards the stairwell in the center of the room. Alden followed her and leaned against the doorframe to block her path. Morana glared up at him, her face flushed red with rage, but upon meeting the general concern of Alden’s she looked away in embarrassment. Osric craned around in his seat to watch the uncharacteristic display, crunching loudly upon his apple.

  “You heard him, you may commence with your mission” she hissed.

  “Do you really feel for this man?” Alden demanded.

  Morana tensed in rage. “How dare you…”

  Osric spat a seed to the floor and bit into the crisp fruit once more.

  “I’ve known you for centuries; don’t pull that shit on me. Do you love this man?”

  “…What of the woman, the autumn woman, do you love her?”

He punched the wall beside her head, not eliciting so much as a flinch. “Damn it Morana!”

  “Answer it!” she looked up pleadingly, autumn leaves fell from the rafters and adorned her hair as several strands of gold vine snaked from beneath her ebon locks. “Who was she?”

  “I shall always have a place in my heart for her, but she is lost to both time and memory. I’m under no delusions regarding the nature of our...relationship, but I can’t stand by as past mistakes are repeated.” He stroked her hair, plucked a leaf from her tresses, and crumpled the withered orange foliage. “Now, answer me…”

  Morana shirked off his touch.“If I wanted a slave's opinion, I would have asked.”

  Osric watched the display with some curiosity, setting the apple core onto the nearby end table and wiping his hands and mouth on a linen napkin.

  “You aren’t her, you said it yourself.”

  “But I am.” Morana rebuffed his attempt at touch once more. “I want to be.”

  Upon catching Osric’s enraptured glare, Morana huffed and enveloped Alden and herself in black smoke, whisking them off in a flash of light. Osric shifted in his seat once they had vanished, turning back to the expanse that was Sorn before him. He could not fathom the nature of their conversation, but the message appeared clear. The two former denizens of the Dusk realm seemed to have had a prior relationship. Normally, such a mundane revelation would have meant nothing, but he felt rage, that blinding green goblin redirecting all of his thoughts back to Morana. He feared her, was annoyed by her, but mixed in was an undeniable draw, once that had only gotten stronger since their shared night together.

  Orsic slammed his fist on the armrest of the chair and retrieved his flute from his robes. He played a flat note, and slowly transformed it into a low, romantic tune. Smoke from the candles converged into a cloud before him, the image of Morana began to take form; her naked body glistened with sweat in the hundred candles light from their night of passion in the realm of dusk. He abruptly turned the song to a harsh whistle of rage and sorrow, the image turned to sludge and dripped from the air as he swatted at the thick smoke that encircled him.

* * *

  Aichlan’s army stumbled through the northern half of the Wraith Woods on their way to Marquez, just as in the Sorn half, the wood was a labyrinth of old growth and gnarled roots. They had avoided the remaining cities and villages; it was deemed an unnecessary risk, as those that resided in them were long dead or fled to the capitol. Dropping temperatures and uneven terrain compounded the trek, leaving the procession of soldiers and near soldiers to travel wearily up hills and over ravines as they followed the snaking river Lethe. The black waters of which seemed motionless as a blanket of fog covered them night and day.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  After a few days of trekking through the dreary woods, the group reached a more lit area of the forest at the rivers end. The black water oozed down the side of a cliff, nearly silent before it crashed into a small woodland lake. Below were the ruins of some long gone civilization, the last remnants of a time before the collapse scattered throughout the wood. The buildings had long ago fallen, but at one point, they towered over the tallest of trees, now buried under moss and soil.

  Aichlan tightened his gauntlets in the frigid air, though the sky was clear and blue, the sun gave off no warmth. He looked at his growing army, their most recent acquisitions served as guides through the wood they had called home for many months now. Though he had met with the leaders, they were unable to provide him with any information he did not already possess. Taryn was ecstatic to be reunited with many of her own village, the one good thing to come from their escape from Port of Romance.

  Aichlan casually inspected his troops and was subsequently dismayed. He was most concerned with the Colby-Nau soldiers as they made up the bulk of his forces; they still had no real structure, as the void from their previous chain of command had not yet been filled. As for the others, he had yet to assign units and had several command-less commanders. He would need to remedy this before they reached the capitol; the court of Marquez was notoriously neurotic when it came to matters of pomp and chivalry.

  “Eth, go ahead and set up camp here, we should appear well rested and full of vitality when we make our appearance to the Steward.”

  “Sure thing.” Eth turned to the following soldiers who hung around a bit nervously. “Oi! Drop it ‘ere lads!”

  The elves grounded their gear and immediately set about lighting several fires. Though their attire was suitable for the severe heats of Rhode, it gave little to no protection for the climates of Duvachellé autumns. In addition, none were used to the confines of a forest, having spent their lives on the open steppes of Rhode.

  “How much further?”

  Aichlan had not noticed Ashe sneak up on him, and was surprised to see her bundled in a down comforter.

  “It’s not that cold is it?” Aichlan smiled as he pulled her into an embrace.

  “Maybe nae fer ye… yer used tar this type o’ climate are ye not?”

  “Not as much as you’d think. Are you all right? He asked with a hint of concern in his voice. “You’re shivering.”

  He had seen less and less of Ashe, often hearing second hand from Clarissa that she felt too ill to attend whatever meeting or meal was occurring. Her mood had also been, erratic. He at first attributed it to the hectic pace they had held and the loss of both friends and homeland. Lately, he began to suspect something more weighed upon her mind.

  “I’ll be fine; I just need to know how much further we have to travel is all.” Ashe quickly dismissed his worried coddling. “Really, I’m just a lil’ cold is all.”

  “Are you sure? Clarissa told me you were ill recently, it’s nothing serious I hope. I can make arrangements for you to return to Rhode-”

  Ashe broke away from Aichlan’s embrace abruptly, and nearly stumbled over a stone. Aichlan caught her and was startled by her tears.

  “Ashe, what in Dawn is going on?”

  “Ye just wanna get rid of me is that it?” She spat as she jerked free of his arms.

  “Ashe? I don’t want to lose you! I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Aichlan narrowed his eyes as she dodged eye contact. “Ashe, what’s this all about?”

  “Nothing.” She snapped and wiped her eyes and nose.

  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

  Ashe remained silent, looking down into the waters below. The fog rose lazily, and dispersed when the weak sunbeams pierced the clouds as they rose above the cliff. The sound of the rushing, falling water hung heavily between them, as the scattered shouts of men in camp rang out around them. Aichlan shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest, concerned and becoming impatient.

  “Ashe?” He prompted, breaking the semi-silence.

  “I know ye just wanna protect me, but have ya ever thought that perhaps I want to do the same for you? This hammer is nae just a decoration.”

  Aichlan laughed aloud, startling Ashe. “Why’re ye laughing? Is something funny ya bastard?”

  “No, no, I just hadn’t thought of it that way is all! Seriously!”

  She continued to glare for several moments as Aichlan tried to contain his laughter, only to crack a smile and join in on the laughter.

  “I never doubted your skill in battle; I just have a bad habit of thinking I’m always the one protecting.” Aichlan bowed grandly, which caused Ashe to laugh all the more. “Forgive an overly chivalrous knight.”

  “Chivalrous my arse!”

  “I’ll do somethin’ to yer arse…” Aichlan smirked.

   Ashe blushed and covered her head with the blanket.

  “Is that a threat or a promise?” Ashe replied seductively.

  Aichlan kissed Ashe as she opened the blanket and brought him in close to her. Despite her shivering, she burned as warmly as ever. Her bare arms and midriff were covered in goosebumps as her teeth chattered slightly. Aichlan smiled and pulled her closer.

  “How are you cold?”

  “How are ye not?” she shot back, her green eyes flashed with feigned annoyance.

  “Excuse me General, Ashe.” Clarissa cleared her throat as she approached.

  Aichlan stepped away from Ashe as she bundled herself back up. “Yes Clarissa?” Aichlan replied, a bit embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment.

  “It is time for me to, um, check up on Ashe.”

  Aichlan gave Ashe a look of newfound worry and curiosity.

  “It’s nothing serious, like ye, Clarissa often worries too much.” Ashe said reassuringly.

  “Really, she is fine, it's merely routine after… It’s only routine.” Clarissa’s eyes darted nervously as she waved at the air in dismissal. “How about you Aichlan? Have the headaches subsided?”

  “Alright then, you will let me know if there is anything wrong, yes?” Aichlan turned to Ashe, eager to avoid any further examinations.

  “Yes…thank you.”

  “Ashe, I love you, no matter how trite that may sound. I can’t say it and be cavalier in the same breath.”

  “Aww.” Clarissa cooed, as she approached and hurried Aichlan on his way. “That’s so sweet Aichlan, but you really do ‘ave to leave now.”

  Aichlan blushed as he clumsily excused himself. “Right then, just be sure an’ let me know how things turn out then?”

  “Shoo, shoo!” Clarissa bustled as she hurried him off on his way.

  “Nice dress.” Ashe burrowed deep into the comforter as she sat upon a mossy boulder.

  Clarissa raised her hood and tucked her hands into the oversized sleeves of the crimson and ivory robe. Her gown was equally opulent with its ruffled train dragging along the forest floor. Still, uncertainty remained as to how she acquired the material.

  “It’s zee garb of zee office; I took it upon myself to implement a dress code. Several children of my flock were wearing rags or civilian attire. I suggested a uniform policy for zee entire army, but Aichlan says such dzings are irrelevant. Shows ‘ow much he knows…”

  “Perhaps ya can redirect your attentions to providing something suitable to this clime fer those of us…its bloody cold, ye have anythin’ fer me?” Ashe blurted out, near tears from the cold.

  “Oh, why yes,” Clarissa took a seat upon a massive root. “I’m sure I picked up an extra coat or two. But tell me, what about you and Aichlan?”

  “What do you mean?”

   “You two ‘ave gotten awful cozy again, you tell him yet?” Clarissa smiled mischievously as she leaned in.

  Ashe buried her face in the comforter. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Wait till we’re in the city.”

  Clarissa sighed. “You’re starting to pop; I doubt he’ll be deceived much longer. And your hormones are making you insufferable to be around sometimes.”

  “You bitch!” Ashe exclaimed, her lower lip quivered with the threat of tears.

  Clarissa sighed deeply and raised her hands in resignation. She stood and made her way over to Ashe and massaged her shoulders. She glowed with the ghostly warmth of The Dawn, its warmth causing Ashe to sigh and sink back; resting her head on Clarissa’s chest as the light enveloped her.

  “You’re getting good at this….” Ashe purred in delight.

  “It’ll be alright, as soon as we get to Marquez, you can take a warm bath, eat a box of chocolates and tell Aichlan; and dzis great burden will be lifted, no?” Clarissa patted her shoulder as she released The Dawn.

  “Okay.” Ashe sniffled rather embarrassedly as a chill wind swept by. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional.” She laughed nervously.

  “It’s quite alright, now lay back and remove zee blanket.” Clarissa removed her scepter from her voluminous sleeve.

  “What’re you gettin’ that out fer?” Ashe recoiled and tightened the blanket at the sight of Clarissa’s glowing scepter.

  “It’s called prenatal,” She paused to think, her memory having forsaken her. “Something or another.” She swatted at the air, to convey the unimportance of the word. “I’m just going to make sure zee little bugger in you is developing fine.”

  “Don’t call her that!”

  “Her? Dzere is no way to tell at dzis stage Ashe.” Clarissa chastised teasingly.

  “What? Can’t I hope?”

  “I suppose.” Clarissa giggled. “Now take off zee comforter, it’ll only be cold for a moment.”

  Ashe reluctantly dropped her comforter and laid it on the loamy soil. As she stood shivering, Clarissa gently laid her down on the blanket, summoning the power of dawn. Her concentration was abruptly broken however as two figures approached from the bushes.

  “Whoever you are and whatever you want, it’ll have to wait.” Clarissa snapped in frustration.

  Maleah and Alice stepped from out of the bushes, looking like children caught in the act of doing something they were not supposed to be. Clarissa sighed as Ashe covered her face and groaned.

  “Don’t be so glad to see us.” Maleah said and took a seat upon a rotting log.

  “We just wanted to check up on you, we haven’t seen you in a while, we were worried is all.” Alice fumbled in her pouch. “We got you something… if I can find it…”

  “Why’d you put it in there?”

  “Oh shut it Maleah.”

  “You shut it, t’was a valid question.”

  “No, it was you being a sarcastic sow as always. Now where the devil is it…”

  “Dyke…”

  Alice backhanded Maleah hard across her face and reached back into the sack without batting an eye. Maleah clutched her nose; blood seeped between her fingers as she let out a steady stream of Xanavien curses and insults. Alice smiled with a look of satisfaction as she retrieved a hooded cloak made of a mottled grey pelt with a gold broach upon a gold chain; the fur was shaggy and lined with silk adorned in Rhodean symbols.

  “D’you like it? Fiora made it from those beasts we slew a few days back. Órfhlaith says it has some magical properties, but I fear I must research this further…”

  “And I’m making a blanket for the baby, or I’m having someone else make it and I’ll present it. I’m not sure yet.” Maleah sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Bitch, that really fucking hurt.”

  Alice presented Ashe with the pelt and she ran her fingers against the soft fur, despite the ugly appearance, it was almost enchantingly wonderful. She held it to her face and breathed it in, the scent of the fire plains of Rhode filled her nostrils, as an uncanny wave of familiar heat washed over her.

  “What is this?”

  “Apparently those creatures are native to the Pallar Anders Vista of western Rhode, they’re called the Jotun, or so says one of the monks. He seemed quite excited; it seems his hobby has become useful.” Alice levitated a piece of rubble over and took a seat.

  “His hobby?”

  “Yes, cryptozoology, though now I suppose it would be just regular zoology.”

  Ashe snuggled in the cloak, raised the hood, and inhaled deeply the familiar scents as she basked in the warmth. Clarissa sighed and put away her scepter, she hesitantly sniffed the cloak, and recoiled with a cringe and wrinkled nose.

  “I cannot see zee appeal, but it is good to see you smiling again Ashe.” She put away her scepter and brushed off her knees. “We can continue dzis later, without zee distractions.”

  Clarissa shot Maleah and Alice an irritated scowl as they feigned innocence. She rolled her eyes and tossed her pink tresses before going on her way. Alice swatted Maleah on the shoulder as she stood, and levitated the stone she sat upon off into the woods.

  “Come on Blondie, Fiora’s making scones; apparently one of the Rhodean smiths’ made an oven.”

  Maleah smirked as she held out a hand. “Blondie? Isn’t that ironic.”

  Alice took Maleah’s hand and helped her to her feet. “Ashe, you’re welcome to join us.”

  Ashe took in another breath of the pelt. “...Sure, why not?”